My Love Is The Shhh
by rockinrye
Summary: She really shouldn't be contemplating the pros and cons of getting caught having sex but she totally is and orgasms seems like a big enough pro to her.


"What do you mean we have to leave in the next two hours?" She asks, eyebrows furrowed; the fitted pencil skirt of her suit is hanging off her hips, the zipper released as soon as she was in the door of their apartment. Her shoes and blazer are cradled in one arm and she has to squeeze her eyes shut to keep from throwing a five-inch pump across the kitchen.

She's gotten _really_ good at not flipping out over the little things, mostly because they have enough big things to fight over. If she doesn't say half of the things she thinks they can avoid most problems, but there are times, like these, when she can't "just let it go."

She loves her girlfriend. Really, she does, but sometimes she legit wonders how she'd react to a kick in the chest. Like, would that end their relationship or…?

"I saw a bug."

She sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose, eye still closed tightly. "Did you kill it?"

"I couldn't."

"Why not?" Still closed.

"I didn't want to touch it."

"Are you fucking kidding me right now?"

"Santana, you're not looking at me."

"Can't," she mutters, shaking her head then biting at the corner of her lip. _Must not flip out_, she chants to herself.

"Babe."

"Nope. Not ready." She lets out a heavy breath. "I'm going to go take a shower and change my clothes. Hopefully when I come back you'll tell me that this is a joke."

She doesn't hear what Rachel says in response because she's already turned on her heels and heading for their bedroom. She drops her shoes at the foot of the bed and hangs her blazer over the door handle. She had every intention of coming home to peace, pizza and a beer then some sex and sleeping in until well into the Saturday afternoon. She should have figured that wouldn't be the case because she lives with Rachel Berry and everything that can go wrong will.

She shimmies out of her skirt, tosses it on the edge the bed and then takes the longest shower possible because she knows Rachel will be sitting on the bed with that wounded puppy expression when she comes out and her anger will melt away. Sometimes she needs to hold onto it a little longer to keep her sanity. She takes her time drying off and is only dressed in a pair of panties when she steps back into their bedroom. Of course Rachel's sitting on the bed, Macbook resting on her lap with that little determined face she wears when she just _has_ to fix something.

She groans after she's pulled on her shirt because they're going to have to leave which means she has to wear a stupid bra. She grabs one out the dresser and puts it on. She can feel Rachel's eyes on her but she's still not ready to think about all the discomfort Rachel calling a million exterminators for an "emergency" is going to cause her.

"Santana," Rachel says in that stupid voice that basically makes all ill feelings null and void.

"Yes?"

"I'm trying to find us a hotel but they all seem to be booked."

"Let me see," she says, sliding into the space beside Rachel on their bed and pulling the laptop onto her thighs. Rachel's eyes are still set in that way that looks like she's waiting for Santana to go off. She just laughs under her breath and wets her lips. "C'mere. Let me kiss you." She cups Rachel's chin and presses their lips together softly, a peace offering. Rachel wrinkles her nose and sighs against her mouth then captures Santana's bottom lip between her own. "Love you," she says when she pulls back. Rachel just mumbles a soft 'I know' then fits her head into space on Santana's shoulder.

Honestly, she wants to be mad because Rachel saw _one bug_ and called the freaking authorities, but it's really not worth it to stay stuck on it. They still have to find somewhere to stay and there are bags to pack and she's starving.

"Deep extermination though, Rach?"

"You never know," Rachel says, pressing her nose into Santana's neck and inhaling. Her lips soon follow and Santana shrugs her shoulder.

"You might want to stop or we're never leaving," she says.

"You smell sweet."

"Happens when you shower, babe." She feels Rachel's eyes roll and then she's being plucked in the cheek.

"Asshole."

"You love me." Rachel makes a noise, kisses her cheek softly and then slips off the bed. Santana watches her cross the room and pull a navy blue and hunter green Ralph Lauren duffle from the closet. She totally kept the gift with purchase that came with her Dad's beloved Polo Blue last Christmas and now Rachel's pulling jeans out of the closet and rolling them up.

She focuses her attention on the computer screen again, searching as many hotels as possible for a room, but every single one seems to be at full occupancy. She's _not_ staying in some sketchy motel. After another twenty minutes of searching both online and by way of phone she gives up with a sigh. "Babe," she calls.

Rachel peeks into the room from their bathroom, holding a toothbrush case. "Yeah?"

"No luck with the hotels."

"Maybe call Mike?" She suggests. Santana stretches her neck in both directions and wets her lips. It wouldn't really be ideal. Mike lives in a tiny studio apartment in Brooklyn Heights. It's not too far away from them, but there's really nowhere for them to fit. She calls anyway.

"Liu Kang," she says in place of a greeting. Mike chuckles into the phone and calls her fucking Sofia Vergara. "What are you doing?"

"Leaving the gym," he says in response, sounding winded.

"I need a favor." He laughs and groans at the same time, which, seriously, isn't the most pleasant sound. She frowns at the phone and tries to keep from being too big of a jerk because they do need somewhere to go and he's looking like their only hope.

"What kind?"

"Can me and Rach crash tonight?" He doesn't say anything initially but he lets out a small breath of air that doesn't sound annoyed or anything. It isn't the '_yes_' she wants to hear, either. "I'll buy you Chipotle and I'll even splurge for the guac."

"Chipotle needs tequila," he wagers. She rolls her eyes, bites down on her bottom lip. Rachel's looking at her expectantly, zipping the duffle before reopening it to slide in their iPhone chargers.

"I'll bring a fucking bottle of tequila."

"Patron."

"Cuervo, bitch." He laughs, sounds like he's working it over in his head.

"Tell him I'll make those snickerdoodles he loves," Rachel supplies. Shit, her own mouth starts watering at that. She's totally gonna smash at least half of whatever Rachel makes for him.

"My woman says she'll make you cookies, Miyagi."

"What kind?"

"Fucking snickerdoodles. You fucking _would_ like snickerdoodles," she says.

"Yeah, yeah. You two can stay. Only because I like Rachel."

"Whatever," Santana says. "We'll be over in a few. I have some stops to make," she adds with a roll of her eyes. She'd be more annoyed if she wasn't starving and looking forward to the tequila herself.

"Alright. Oh, and you're on the air mattress."

"Air mattress? You're kidding right."

"No. Seriously, I messed up my back at rehearsal this week." She lets out a breath and pinches her nose instinctively. She's about to say something about how she'd rather inhale extermination fumes than sleep on an air mattress but Rachel seems to sense it and takes her phone, telling Mike thanks and they'll see him later.

"It's just one night," Rachel says. "We'll get up in the morning and I'll take you to that café you like for oatmeal chocolate chip pancakes and then when we come home …"

"When we come home what?" She asks, eyebrows lifting suggestively. Her finger slides over Rachel's collarbone and then she lifts her thumb to brush over Rachel's bottom lip.

"If you behave tonight, we'll see."

"I always behave, baby."

"Sure you do. Now c'mon." Rachel kisses her thumb and then slaps her on the thigh. "We have to get you fed. I know you're starving." Santana smirks. "Ugh. You're so gross. I mean _Chipotle_." She just licks her lips with wide eyes. Rachel shakes her head and pushes at her shoulder before dropping the duffle in her lap.

"Seriously?" She toes her way into her "weekend shoes", a pair of battered black Chuck Taylor's and shoulders the bag, smacking Rachel's ass on their way out. Their landlord, Ned, will be handling the rest.

Rachel slips her hand into hers as soon as they're out in the street and doesn't let go, even as they ride the train. She just brushes her thumb over Santana's knuckles and rubs small circles into the top of her hand.

"I just realized I let you pick out my clothes," Santana says, lifting her head away from Rachel's. Rachel lets out a little disbelieving laugh and shakes her head.

"I packed your carousel horse sweater," she deadpans. Santana makes a noise, presses her lips against Rachel's hair.

"No really, what did you pack?" She asks.

"I can't believe you don't trust me."

"Baby, you wore knee socks and plaid."

"In _high school_ and you _liked_ my skirts."

"They were insanely short and I could see the backs of your thighs. So, yes, I liked that they helped push the narrative of my fantasies."

"I don't like you."

"'S'fine because you love me."

"I do, but if you're so curious you can look in the bag yourself," Rachel says with a huff. Honestly, she's not really worried. Rachel doesn't dress anything like she did in high school. Well, she still likes really short skirts, but Santana's definitely not complaining about that because she usually gets to push those up around her waist and have her way. So.

"Hey," she says, bumping Rachel's shoulder. "I was kidding. I mean, I know you appreciate how hot I am so there's no way you packed something awful."

"You're not that hot, Santana," Rachel says with zero conviction. She laughs because, whatever, that's not even a thing. She knows she's hot and her girlfriend's hot too and just thinking about that reminds her that she's not currently banging her on the counter like she planned on her way home from her internship.

"Whatever you say."

The train ride isn't long and the Chipotle isn't too far away from Mike's apartment. Rachel wraps an arm around her waist and she slings her free arm around Rachel's shoulder and keeps it there until she has to pull out her wallet and pay for all three burrito bowls. They stop at the liquor store two blocks from his place and she gets a handle of Cuervo.

"Sup asshole?" She says in greeting when Mike opens the door. He just shakes his head and pulls Rachel into a hug then lifts his fist for her to pound. She covers it with her hand and squeezes.

"How long do you plan on being unpleasant, Santana?" Rachel asks, putting the food on the small circular kitchen table in the part of his apartment that doubles as a place to play poker. She shrugs because it's not like she's ever really pleasant anyway and Mike just ignores her attempts at fucking with him.

"When you grow, I'll stop."

"Funny," Rachel says on her way to Mike's bathroom to wash her hands. Mike just grins at her, washes his own hands in the kitchen sink and thanks her for the food and tequila.

"You're welcome, Jackie Chan." He's pulling orange juice out the refrigerator and grenadine out a cabinet as she reaches into the cupboard to get the tumblers. "Seriously, though. Good looking out."

"It's nothing."

"Well, duh. But thanks still. This air mattress better be comfortable."

"It's what I slept on before I was able to get to Ikea. There's one of those fancy ass feather toppers for it because my mom had a fit about 'her baby boy sleeping on the floor'."

"A woman after my own heart," Santana says with a smirk.

"Dude, stop fantasizing about my mom."

"I'm not. She's hot though." Mike just gives her a look and slides the tequila sunrise toward her. "Do you have little umbrellas too?"

"Santana," Rachel says. She's sure Rachel doesn't even know what she was doing but that was the 'stop' tone so she just rolls her eyes and passes Rachel the other drink. "Me and Chang have an understanding, Rach. Stop killing the fun."

She slips into a seat at the table and goes to work on her food without a word. She hasn't eaten since breakfast and they should be thankful she hasn't been meaner. Rachel flicks a piece of rice off the corner of her mouth with her thumb and shakes her head at her then scrunches her nose up all cute. She just sticks out her tongue then pushes a piece of tortilla into her mouth.

Puck shows up completely wasted a little after midnight. She and Mike are in the middle of a game of dominoes and Rachel's sitting on the floor in front of the TV watching something on GSN, obnoxiously getting all the answers right.

Puck sucks his teeth when he sees her and she rolls her eyes. Asshole.

"Don't tell me you two are sleeping here," he says like he has a fucking say in it. She runs a hand through her hair and looks at the dominoes in her hand, completely ignoring him. She knows he crashes at Mike's a lot when he's drunk because he got an apartment in Harlem for whatever reason and it's far as fuck away. She doesn't care that he'll probably be sleeping on the floor.

"Dude, you don't even live here," Mike says with a laugh. He takes a sip of his drink and Santana snorts. Puck just shrugs at the both of them, heads over to Rachel who hugs him and tells him he smells like a bar. He settles onto one of the two beanbag chairs near the TV and passes out five minutes later. She goes back to shit talking Mike into submission and eating what's left of her burrito bowl.

Yeah, maybe she shouldn't have had any tequila because it makes her super horny and fucking Rachel on an air mattress at Mike Chang's place isn't entirely ideal. Not ideal but still not impossible either. Especially with the way her body is reacting to the fact that Rachel keeps unconsciously licking her lips. Rachel grins at her when she catches her staring with her mouth a little open. Yeah, not ideal but neither was the back row of lockers at the NYU gym but that definitely happened. So.

Puck is snoring like a freight train when Mike stretches his arms and tells her he's about to take a shower and get to sleep. He presses his fist to hers, kisses Rachel's cheek and this disappears into the bathroom. He comes out twenty minutes later in pajamas and climbs into bed.

"Babe," Rachel says, tipping her head to the side.

"Hm?"

"You ready for bed?" She nods and raises her arms above her head, threads her fingers together and arches her back. Rachel gets up and opens their bag, grabs her own pajamas out of it then Santana's and drops them in her lap before she heads for the bathroom.

She really shouldn't be contemplating the pros and cons of getting caught having sex but she totally is and orgasms seems like a big enough pro to her.

When Rachel comes out of the bathroom, jeans folded over her arm, in a pair of Santana's old Cheerios shorts and an NYU V-neck, it's pretty much decided. The only issue is getting Rachel on board.

She slips behind Rachel, after brushing her teeth and changing, and slings an arm around her waist. Mike is snoring soundly and Rachel's eyes are closed when she says, "Love you," and shifts into a more settled position.

"Love you too," she says into Rachel's neck, fingers skimming the bottom of Rachel's shirt. She brushes her fingers across the waistband of Rachel's shorts then slips them beneath it, stroking the flesh she finds.

"Santana," Rachel says quietly.

"Huh?" She dips her fingers lower until they're settled just inside of Rachel's panties. Rachel says her name again then bumps her shoulder against hers.

"Stop." She keeps her hand still, tries to look at Rachel in the darkness but she can't get a read on her face from where she is. Rachel moves her hand and rolls onto her back. "We can't."

"But tequila," Santana says.

"This is so wrong," Rachel says in this cute little whisper. Santana just laughs lightly. The phrasing doesn't sound like it's impossible, just wrong, which, yeah, maybe it is. She doesn't really care though.

"Yep. Super wrong, baby," she says, sliding a leg over Rachel's. Rachel blinks her eyes closed for a moment, shaking her head and biting on her bottom lip. She pushes her hand up Rachel's shirt, runs her fingers from one hip to the other then slides them up over Rachel's abdomen.

"Santana," Rachel breathes, fidgeting. She doesn't answer, just moves her own hair over her shoulder and dips her head to drop kisses over Rachel's neck, strokes her tongue over Rachel's collarbone. "God," Rachel says, hips rolling up. Her fingers skirt over the skin just beneath her girl's breast and Rachel takes in a sharp breath.

She _knows_ what Rachel wants. If she just moves her hand that much more… She doesn't though. She runs it back down Rachel's side, rubs circles into her hip bone, presses her lips to the corner of Rachel's mouth. Her finger press just beneath the band of her panties and she lifts her head.

"Maybe we shouldn't," she says, biting the corner of her lip. Rachel's eyes narrow already darkened. "I mean, Puck's like right there and—"

"He sleeps like the fucking dead. Touch me."

She doesn't say anything at all, just fits her hand all the way into Rachel's panties, and slides her fingers up then down and presses in. Rachel's back arches and her mouth opens but Santana moves her hand to cover it before any sound comes out. It's muffled against her palm and Rachel's eyes widen a little but her hips roll up into the push-pull of Santana's fingers.

She dips her head until her lips are ghosting over the shell of Rachel's ear and curls her tongue around it, fingers still moving with quickening strokes, rolling her thumb over Rachel's clit ever so often.

"God, I wish I could go down on you right now," she says right into Rachel's ear. Rachel's hips jerk and her tongue slides over Santana's palm, a groan just audible. She rolls her own hips against Rachel's thigh in response. "You taste so good, baby. You know that?"

Nails dig into the bicep on her other arm and she tweaks Rachel's nipple between her fingers, tugs on her earlobe with her teeth. "Shit," she hisses when Rachel's hand curls around her hip and pulls her in. She squeezes her eyes shut, rolls her hips in time with the motion of her fingers. Her hand slips away from Rachel's mouth and she follows it with her own, licking at Rachel's lips then stroking her tongue into the girl's mouth. Rachel moans against her lips, arches up to meet the heel of Santana's palm with each thrust.

She presses her palm into the mattress, shifts because of the noise it makes and looks down at Rachel. Her chest is flushed, eyes squeezed shut, biting down on her lip. Santana's hips jerk at the sight and she could give a fuck if anyone woke up right now but her hand slips back over Rachel's mouth when the curl of her fingers makes Rachel's lips part with a gasp.

"Shh," she says with a grin. Rachel squirms beneath her then slips her hand into Santana's shorts, palming her ass and pulling her forward as she slides her knee up. "Fuck," she hisses, dropping her head to Rachel's shoulder, panting against sweat-slicked skin. The hand covering Rachel's mouth slides into her hair and tightens around the strands.

It's so fucking hot and she can't really concentrate on what her fingers are doing when Rachel's pulling her in over and over again and flexing her thigh like that. She just rolls her thumb over Rachel's clit and swivels her hips with each tug and, god, she's really happy the only barrier between her and Rachel is the tiny pair of shorts she's wearing. Rachel flexes her thigh again, nails digging into her flesh and she falls apart, pressing her groan into Rachel's neck.

When she catches her breath, she realizes Rachel's holding her wrist, hips canting forward, over and over. "Shit, baby," she mumbles against her skin, lifting herself and scissoring her fingers. She catches Rachel's moan in her mouth, kisses her hard, all tongue and teeth and curls her fingers, her thumb sliding back and forth over Rachel's clit. She presses a third finger in, pushes up and pulling back until the flutter around them turns into a clench and Rachel's arching off the mattress, teeth digging into Santana's lip. Rachel sinks back down, eyes wide. It takes her a moment to realize but she flexes her jaw and frowns.

"The fuck, Rach? It's bleeding!" She says, a little too loudly, the taste of copper pooling on her tongue. Rachel's brow furrows and she lifts her thumb to Santana's mouth, the pad of her finger pressing her bottom lip. She pulls it down softly to get a better look, small lines forming on her forehead as she squints her eyes.

"It'll be okay," she says hoarsely, chest still moving quickly; beads of sweat trickling over her temples.

"It's _bleeding_. You bit through my lip."

"I did not bite _through_ your lip, Santana. And it's your fault."

"You bit me and I'm bleeding."

"Can you be quiet? We managed not to wake anyone up during the sex. It would be really silly to do so afterward."

Santana just rolls her eyes, pulling her hand out of Rachel's shorts, rubbing her fingers on the girl's stomach.

"You bit me though."

"Yes, Santana. I'm trying to enjoy the fact that I had a really, really good orgasm. I'm assuming yours was good too since you came first—"

"Okay, stop saying that like I can't last." Rachel laughs lightly and grabs her chin.

"You want me to kiss it better?"

"I want you to un-bite me. My lips are already big and I totally can't go down on you for like two weeks now." Rachel sighs, eyes rolling as she tugs Santana's face toward her and kisses her softly.

"I'm sorry I bit you, baby," she says with the hint of a laugh in her voice. "It was either that or waking everybody up. I mean, you were, really, really good." Her fingers scratch at Santana's scalp lightly.

"I was huh?" Santana says, smirking against her then wincing. Rachel just nods, kisses her again.

"So good."

"You're pandering."

"Is it working?"

"Can you get me some ice?"

"I don't know how anyone thinks I'm the difficult one," she says, but she pushes Santana off of her and slips off the mattress, finds some ice and a Ziploc baggy. "C'mere," she says when she lies back down. Santana's cheeks puff and she lets out a breath before Rachel curls around her, holding the ice over her lip, forehead creased with worry.

"'S'cold."

"Shh," Rachel says. And, whatever, she probably shouldn't be whining but it does hurt and all the attention isn't bad. She falls asleep with a numb lip and her head resting on Rachel's chest as she strokes her hair. She almost forgets about it until Puck opens his stupid mouth in the morning.

"Dude, what the fuck happened to your lip?"

"Nothing, _bitch_." She winces as soon as it's out, hand coming up to press against the swollen flesh.

"Oh. So, it wasn't the sex?" She can't really be blamed for throwing the water from the melted ice in his face.


End file.
